


Negotiations

by Clockwork



Series: Training the Pet [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mention Of Suicide Attempt, mention of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-16 03:30:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clockwork/pseuds/Clockwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim realizes that his emotions are getting in the way and so he sets off to get himself, and his plans, back on track.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Negotiations

It wasn’t a realization he wanted to come to. Certainly not something that he ever thought might happen. Yet between his reaction two weeks earlier to Sherlock’s attempts at freedom and the moods that had beset him over the same time period, Jim Moriarty was aware of one thing that he needed to remedy immediately.

He was losing control of himself. All because of Sherlock Holmes.

Even after much contemplation, he couldn’t determine the moment when he had crossed that line. Certainly after so many years of studying the man, he perhaps might have developed a certain fondness for a man who could be both irritating and brilliant in turns. That he was upset that this man he’d watched, more importantly someone he had put so much time and trouble into, had tried to escape his fate, was perfectly normal. That was what Jim needed to remind himself. What he couldn’t let himself do was sink into the sort of emotional comfort he had taken in the other man in the last few days.

Since discovering him with that bloody, ragged wound, Jim had indulged himself in moments of tenderness while he’d allowed Sherlock the blissful darkness of pain killers and heroin. He grew stronger though as the wound healed, spending more times in wakefulness than his fitful sleep. 

A new nurse had been hired and as he woke, Jim would more often than not slip away, leaving him to the woman’s care to be fed and bathed and, in recent days, medicated as needed. Even just being there, administering his daily doses, Jim found himself indulging in little things. 

Soft caresses to the inner curve of his elbow just as the needle punctured pale flesh. Allowing his fingers to delicately brush the fall of dark hair from Sherlock’s brow as he drifted back to sleep. If he was alone with the man, he found himself lost in the flutter of Siamese blue eyes from behind sooty lashes, and the sound of words that never quite came to fruition. 

He had to put an end to it. There was no benefit to continuing with such emotional displays. Especially not when the emotions that came with them were beginning to feel much more genuine than he wished. It would do him no good to allow himself weakness. Not now. Not when he was so close. 

The answer came to him in the dark, lying there in a bed large enough for many more. Nestled into the center, surrounded by down and Egyptian cotton, the scent of soap and vanilla rich around him, Jim realized that he was looking at this all wrong. If he wished to truly remind himself of what he should be doing, he needed to pay a visit to the one man who would benefit the most from all he was doing. John Watson.

The next morning he left special instructions for the nurse, informing he would not return until the next day. Sending a quick text to Moran, he dressed carefully for his day. Silk slacks, a casual jumper in slate blue, and Italian loafers that were much nicer than his look allowed but were the least ostentatious footwear he had. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t expect Watson to recognize him, but rather that he wanted to do his best to avoid being noticeable to any others who may be watching for him. Obviously Mycroft would keep the more legitimate arms of the law from seeking him out but he wouldn’t put it much past Watson to have brought in others to help him seeking help from some of the simpering fools that would call Sherlock all sorts of names to his face and be just as likely to seek out Jim behind his back.

Setting out with just his wallet, mobile and a small, slim device that well looked like a second phone it wasn’t long before he found the man he sought. In truth, he nearly looked him over before realizing that it was truly John Watson that his little game was taking its toll on. 

A two day shadow haunted his jaw line, leaving the same dark smudge as the purplish half-moons that made his eyes like that of a hound. His jumper was striped, though the white stripes no longer seemed snow but rather a dingy grey from repeated wearings without a wash between. In truth, had Jim not known better, he might well have thought him a vagrant without home or job rather than a man who had not only served his country in foreign lands but here within the streets of London as well. 

Seeing him in that dilapidated state, Jim knew that approaching him would have risks. In much more balanced mental place, he had already attacked Moriarty once. Slowly sliding into depression and whatever pain seemed to be constantly seizing him based on the grimace twisting his features, there was a good chance he might risk law and prison and shot Jim where he stood.

It was a chance he was willing to take. 

Slipping into step beside the good doctor once more, he kept a bit more space between them than he had previously, and ensured he wasn’t in position to be shoved into the path of an oncoming bus. 

“Doctor Watson. I do believe it’s time for you and I to have another talk. Not here though. I know a place, a few blocks over.”

“Shut up.”

He didn’t shout, not as hysterical as he might look, but his words brooked no argument as he turned on Moriarty, ignoring the way the foot traffic around them jostled and growled in their direction for blocking the sidewalk.

Jim paused both in word and step before inclining his head once to the man at his side to allow him the floor as it were.

“Is he alive?”

Jim nodded his head once, playing his own sort of game since being told to shut up.

“Do you plan to ever release him?”

Again he nodded. 

“When?”

Smiling innocently, Jim stared into Watson’s eyes and said not a word.

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Speak,’ he growled, that slip in language certainly revealing more about his mental state than even his clothing did. 

“I am not a dog, Doctor. Nor am I one to be commanded around. Especially not by one who hasn’t seen a shower in likely as much time as your friend has been in my care. Do tell, does he bathe you himself and so you’re lost without him?”

Every fiber of John’s body seemed to tremble, hands clenching into tight fists at his side. The internal debate was quite evident on his face, that fight for control warring miserably with the desire to tear Moriarty limb from limb. They both knew how far it would get him, and just how long it might be before the police arrived at Mycroft’s word to ensure that the Holmes name wasn’t ruined. 

Even as that conflict was written so clearly on Watson’s face, Jim raised his gaze to the CCTV camera nearby, reminding John silently than any physical confrontation would end poorly for him and not the other way around.

“He is alive. I will release him. Eventually. Sooner than later depending on how today goes.”

Already Jim was feeling more like himself. No longer was there that tightness in his chest when he thought of Sherlock lying there in the bed, eyes wide and yet unspeaking since his attempt. He felt lighter than he had in weeks; free from his own emotions. It was exhilarating. 

“Now, shall we adjourn to have this conversation somewhere else,” Jim asked, sounding casual and light despite the wicked twist of his lips. “Or you can return home and wait for his return. Whenever that might be. Go with me, do what I ask, and I’ll have him back to you within a month.”

“As if I can believe you. I don’t even have proof he’s alive.”

“That’s right, you don’t. Nor will you. Make your choices, Doctor. Deny me what I ask, and it will be another year before you see him. Maybe by then I’ll have become so attached that perhaps I’ll keep him. Quite literally, the choice is yours.”

Jim waited. He could afford to wait. He could afford to wait, after all. He had, as he had from the beginning, the upper hand in this game and if the Doctor didn’t want to play, then he was certain he could ensure that Sherlock would.

He waited as rage made him bullish, leaning towards Jim with such anger in his eyes that he honestly thought for a moment that he would make the wrong decision. Not only to deny Jim what he was asking for, but to make another attempt on his life there before God, the Queen and everyone.

Still Jim waited, staying rooted on the spot he was. All outcomes would be positive ones, but there was a particular one he craved, needed now more than ever. If he pushed too fast, he might never have it.

Around them people yelled, horns honked and the city went on about its business without a clue of the turmoil that washed off of Watson in waves. 

“Whatever it is you want, I will live through it?”

Jim nodded, only the once. “I give my word.”

“And no one will die? No one will be hurt?”

“I can promise no physical injury to yourself, Sherlock, or any other.”

It was a carefully played word game and they both knew it. 

“And if I do what you want, you will return him within three weeks, unharmed?”

“Three weeks? I thought I said four.”

“This is negotiating.” 

Negotiating for the life of a friend. Jim wondered how much it made the good doctor’s stomach turn. 

“Three weeks then, and he is just as I wish him to be returned. A bit worse for wear from his own hand but physically whole and breathing.”

It was as honest as he could be without revealing the entirety of his deeds. That was a special surprise from Watson and Jim wouldn’t ruin that now.

“You know that once I have him, I will hunt you down and kill you,” John said, words just as soft and carefully spoken as everything else he’d said. No malice, no rage. Just the steady determination of a man pressed to his breaking point.

“Oh I think you will try. Eventually. Now, shall we continue this somewhere else? A private place from whence I give my word you will walk out of your own volition?”

Again that pause, leaving it in Watson’s hands to make that decision. At length he nodded. 

“Let’s get this over with,” he said, shoulders slumping in defeat.

Oh but that was just where Jim wanted him.


End file.
